


Hermione, 1992 (Part 2)

by JessaLRynn



Series: Glimpses [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore being Parental, Gen, Good Dumbledore, Introspection, POV Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessaLRynn/pseuds/JessaLRynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Dumbledore with Harry - about a truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermione, 1992 (Part 2)

The sound of phoenix song wakes them, joining the chords of the harp, entwined with it, overshadowing, overpowering it, until the harp goes silent and the bird carols on alone, with all the voices of music in all the world. There are people coming down the corridors - McGonagall and, shockingly, Snape. They stare at him, and he glares at them in loathing, and winces at the sound of the triumphal overture, even as the look on McGonagall's face turns from vague worry to transcendent joy. She reaches out and pulls them away from the door, just in time, for it flies open behind them, and Dumbledore emerges from within, a small burden cradled tenderly in his arms.

The first thing Hermione thinks of is an old stained-glass window in a church. There they stand, the perfect image of it, a crushed, ancient Abraham holding his trusting, only son to be sacrificed for reasons even his many years can scarcely comprehend. She had thought as a girl that the images were beautiful, but the reality before her has a glory and a nimbus around it that the painted halo could never have described. Quite apart from her own emotions, she senses wonderful and awful things from that statuesque pair in the doorway.

Hermione is shocked to see Harry lie so still. His face is gentle, and his fiery eyes are closed, but it is obvious that he is having an easy sleep now, his head resting against the Headmaster's shoulder, his limbs relaxed and free in the old man's kindly embrace. She wonders to look at him why she still can't shake the thought of him so titanic, for here he is, a light-weight burden in a frail old man's arms. Snape murmurs something and she turns to see he has conjured a stretcher, looking with absolutely pitiless hatred at the boy who had suffered so to come to this place. The Potions Master catches her glance and turns away, moderating his expression as he does this, to push his stretcher towards Dumbledore, without a word.

"I'll carry him, Severus," he says. "This is all my fault," he adds, obviously a reply to the look of shock on all their faces. "Severus, summon the staff. Minerva, I have another job for you."

They both nod, and step out of range of the students. Snape stalks off down the hallway and McGonagall accepts a small package from him, then strides purposefully away. "Come, you two," Dumbledore says. "Can Mr. Weasley walk?'

"'Course," says Ron, vaguely. "Forever and ever if Harry's ok."

Hermione smiles at him gently and takes his arm to support him as best she can. As they make their way to the Hospital Wing, she is watching Dumbledore as he whispers soothingly to the boy in his arms, and hums a quiet refrain or two when he stops to rest. He never seems to think to put Harry down, never seems to want to relinquish his delicate student, even to the care of a stretcher Hermione is sure he could conjure with a word and no wand.

Even as they arrive to the business-like shock of Madame Pomphrey's bustling care, she watches. Ron has been ushered to a bed, and Madame Pomphrey is giving him hospital clothes to change into. She, herself, will need to be seen to, because that blood on her shoe has to have come from somewhere. Ron pulls the curtain reluctantly, and Hermione goes to sit on a bed that will be between them, never taking her eyes from Harry's face or Dumbledore's curious expression.

There is something in his face that tells Hermione more than she thinks she has ever known, more than she thinks she should know. The old man is lowering the boy tenderly to the mattress, soothing him even now with unheard whispers. She has no idea what he is saying, but she knows it isn't truly the words that matter. She knows, beyond any doubt, that this is not the first, nor even the second, time this man has held this child, that he may have been there all of Harry's life, and that it is still only Harry's unconscious state that makes him willing to take such a liberty now. His eyes are twinkling, but very much over-bright, unshed tears standing in them for all the world to see.

Madame Pomphrey hands him clothes without a word, refusing even to look at his face, as if she knows the dreadful sorrow and fierce joy she will see there, and believes it will burn her. She closes the curtain around them, and Hermione can hear Dumbledore talking quietly to him, as her mother used to do to her in those days when she would still fall asleep in her clothes.

Hermione pulls her own curtain closed and changes, listening as Dumbledore tells the Matron he will stay with the boy, in a tone that brooks no defiance, and suggests that he means more than just now.

As Madame Pomphrey hands her a flask of potion, they look at each other, and Hermione sees her own expression of wonder and worry echoed in the older witch's eyes. She downs the potion without another thought and lies down, waiting for it to take her.

As her eyes close, she can hear Madame Pomphrey talking quietly to a vague Ron. She thinks for a few moments, unable to shake the hopeful, dreadful feeling from her mind. She knows she has seen something no one else ever gets to do, something far beyond merely the admiration of a mentor for a star-pupil. She has seen the greatest wizard of the age cradling his successor in his arms, fear and triumph and dreadful regret all haunting his lined face as he looks with love and shame on the life he must burden so unbearably. She has seen a great man brought to awe by the miracle of a child, and seen the fathomless love of a titanic man for the precious son of his old age.


End file.
